


Let Your Heart Beat Here

by burninghoneyatdusk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lawyer Clarke Griffin, Mutual Pining, Professor Bellamy Blake, Sharing a Bed, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: It’s wedding season and Clarke, as single as ever, is faced with the prospect of spending an entire summer at the singles’ table. The only person who might be more miserable than her is her best friend’s brother Bellamy, who just got dumped from a three year relationship.Bellamy and Clarke have never gotten along, but to survive wedding season, they make a deal - double down on weddings by being each others’ plus ones. It’s only a mutually beneficial agreement, a way to avoid the singles’ tables and wingman each other. At least, that’s all it was supposed to be.Or, the Plus One AU no one asked for.Check out the incredible drawing that Poppykru (tumblr) made for this fichere!
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 131
Collections: t100fic4blm Donation Celebration





	Let Your Heart Beat Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This fic is based on the movie [Plus One](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7645122/) \- if you haven't seen it, I highly encourage you to check it out! You can stream it on Hulu right now. 
> 
> As most of you know, I'm participating in t100 Fic for Black Lives Matter, where myself and other writers and creators are accepting prompts in exchange for donations to organizations that support the BLM cause. This fic was written for our donation celebration, where writers wrote fics based on tropes and themes voted on by our prompters as a gift for raising $2,500 before the series finale. On Tuesday, our total surpassed $4,000! We're all very excited, but this initiative is far from over and we encourage you to keep submitting prompts. In fact, we might even have another event when we reach $5,000 😉 You can find all our info, including our writers page, creators page, prompt ideas board, donations page, and prompt submission form via our carrd [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). 
> 
> While I'm not accepting requests for new prompts until I catch up on the ones in my queue, I am accepting requests for WIP updates. Those fics are Voices in the Water, Chasin' You, and this fic! You can view my current prompt list [here](https://burninghoneyatdusk.tumblr.com/post/629918079181324289/burninghoneyatdusk), and if you'd like to see new chapters of my WIPs added to that list, prompting them is a great way to make that happen.
> 
> As always, don't hesitate to reach out on tumblr (burninghoneyatdusk) or twitter (burnhoneydusk), about anything, including t100 Fic for BLM questions. 
> 
> Fic title is from the song Heart Beat Here by Dashboard Confessional.

“What time are you getting in tomorrow?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke sighs, dragging her large designer suitcase out of her closet. She has her airpods in, trying to multitask, but she isn’t doing a great job. 

“My train gets in at 3pm - can you guys still pick me up at the station?”

“Yeah, of course. Our flight gets in at 1pm, so unless we’re delayed, we should be good. I think Jasper and Maya are already there though, so one of them should be able to swing by if we’re not there yet.”

“Sounds good.”

“You know, you could just hitch a ride with Bellamy,” Octavia points out.

Clarke huffs a laugh. “For what purpose?”

“Right, of course,” Octavia laughs. “Only one of you might make it to the wedding.”

Clarke laughs again. “Okay, now I’m picturing me sitting in the back of his car, third wheeling with him and Echo...no thanks.”

“Echo’s not coming - didn’t I tell you they broke up?”

Clarke pauses, abandoning the shirt she was folding. “What?”

“Shit yeah - the bitch dumped him like...about two months ago now? Not that I’m really complaining, but he’s having a rough time. I think he actually thought he was going to marry her.”

It’s no secret that Clarke and Bellamy don’t get along, but she still can’t help but feel sorry for him. He and Echo had been dating for just over three years - Clarke knows this because everytime that Octavia visits New York, where both Clarke and Bellamy live, Octavia would insist on staying with Clarke instead of her brother, purely because of her brother’s girlfriend. Clarke didn’t mind of course, although the constant complaining about Echo was a little tiring. Still, it’s not like Clarke disagreed with Octavia. The woman was always cold, and based on the few times that she had met her, Clarke was decidedly not a fan.

“Well - that sucks,” Clarke offers, unsure of what else to say. 

“I think it’s for the best,” Octavia settles on, seemingly unperturbed. “But anyway, he  _ will _ be driving up alone, so if you change your mind…” she trails off, voice teasing.

Clarke laughs again. “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer. Remind me why Bellamy is even coming to the wedding?”

“He tutored Monty in high school. They’re kind of friends, they still keep in touch.”

“I have a hard time believing Monty needed tutoring,” Clarke huffs, resuming her folding. 

“Well, in English and History - the science genius is not a jack-of-all-trades.”

Given that Monty is one of their best friends from college, Clarke always forgets that Monty and Octavia also went to high school together. The three of them met Raven, Jasper, and Harper at college too, the six of them forming a close-knit group throughout their four years at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. Octavia was Clarke’s randomly-assigned freshman year roommate and Clarke thinks they were both a little surprised at how well they ended up getting along, given how different their upbringings were.

Clarke was, and is, wealthy. Her parents, a surgeon and an engineer, are both Dartmouth alumni and easily paid full-price tuition for her four years. Octavia was at Dartmouth on an athletic scholarship, her talent on the lacrosse field allowing her to afford the university she otherwise never would have been able to attend. 

Clarke moved around a lot growing up, always attending private schools in large cities. Octavia spent her whole life in a small town in Maine, attending one public school. Clarke’s parents were divorced by the time she was nine, both since remarried and divorced again. Octavia’s parents were happily married until her father died when she was twelve. 

Yet, somehow, they hit it off from the very beginning. They complimented each other, Octavia a more reckless free spirit and Clarke more reserved (or as Bellamy would say, uptight). But they always had fun, had the same sense of humor, and remained close even after Octavia moved to Los Angeles after college, at the same time that Clarke moved to New York.

“Alright, I’ve got to go pack,” Octavia tells her. 

Clarke smirks, even though Octavia can’t see it. “Don’t you mean watch Lincoln pack for you?”

“Well, of course. That’s why I’m marrying him,” she laughs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love you.”

“Love you too, O.”

Clarke sighs as soon as her friend hangs up, collapsing onto her bed on her stomach, staring out her bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook downtown Manhattan. Checking her phone, she decides that 4pm is an acceptable time to open the bottle of pinot she has in her fridge. She forces herself up, the promise of a glass of wine being her main motivation, and pads across her apartment on quiet bare feet. 

Her apartment, modern and minimalist, is as clean as always. It’s admittedly a hefty monthly rent but Clarke thinks that the floor-to-ceiling windows lining an entire wall of the apartment and the open floor plan she adores makes it worth it. Besides, if she’s going to work her ass off as a lawyer, she might as well enjoy the pay.

Once she pours her wine, she hops onto the counter of her kitchen island, staring at the fridge in front of her. It’s littered with wedding invitations - dozens of them. In fact, she can’t even make it to every wedding because so many of them overlap. She gets it though - she’s 29, around the age when everyone decides to lock things down, including all five of her best friends from Dartmouth. Every single one of them is on that fridge, as well as her step-brother, and even her mother. Clarke doesn’t even want to think about that one. By the time she gets to her mother’s wedding in October, she’ll be ready for a solo trip to the Bahamas. She just has to make it to then.

\--∞--

Bellamy tilts back his beer, surprised to find it empty. Slouched on his couch, it takes a lot of effort to simply lean forward and set it down on his coffee table. It joins three other bottles and although he’s tempted to grab a fifth, he also knows that he’s going to regret it during the four hour drive he has to make tomorrow. 

His coffee table is an antique, covered in scratches here and there, but Bellamy likes it. He likes things with character, which is why his apartment is cluttered with books and other things he’s collected throughout the years (but really, mostly books). Of course, he knows the state of the apartment has plunged to a level beyond its usual clutter, with dishes filling his sink and his kitchen counter covered in bottles and containers like his coffee table is. Even his desk, usually in a state of organized chaos, is simply a mess. Instead, he’s been grading papers from the same place on the couch that he’s sitting on now. Groaning, he shifts so that he’s laying down, eyes still on the History Channel special that he’s hardly paying attention to.

If Echo were here, she’d be complaining by now, probably battling him for the remote. That would probably turn into them making out for a bit, and end with her getting her way. He misses it - having someone. It’s been over two months now, and he’s still not quite used to her being gone. Maybe because it was such a shock. Bellamy really thought they were going somewhere. Sure, he hadn’t bought a ring or anything, but they’re both 34 and pretty much all of his friends are settling down. In fact, three of his best friends are getting married this summer alone, along with his little sister. Bellamy thought he was at least on the right path, meaning he could enjoy the slew of weddings he has ahead of him. Instead, he’s going to be spending all of them at the singles’ tables, trying his hardest to be happy for everyone while secretly wallowing and burying his jealousy.

Bellamy tried to get out of Monty’s wedding, to his credit. Sure, he still considers Monty a friend and they keep in touch, but Bellamy’s hardly egotistical enough to think that it would really make one difference or another to Monty if he’s at his wedding. Yet, when he brought it up to Octavia, she guilted him into it and pointed out that she hasn’t seen him in months and wouldn’t again until her own wedding in August. 

Maybe, Bellamy muses, the break-up would be easier to handle if there was some solid reason that Echo left him. He half wishes she cheated, or did something that would warrant anger. That sounds better than his current depression. But no - all she said was that her feelings had changed and that she didn’t think they were right for each other. As if their entire relationship was just a light switch she could flip off at her convenience.

_ Fuck _ , Bellamy thinks.  _ This summer is going to be the fucking worst. _

\--∞--

Clarke arrives early at Penn Station - she always arrives early for travel, hates feeling rushed and chaotic before having to hop on a plane or a train. She’s trying to be positive about the wedding - maybe she’ll lose that attitude as the months go by, but for now, she’s doing alright. She gets to see some of her closest friends for the first time in a while, not to mention she can’t remember the last time all six of them were in one place. Hell, she’s even looking forward to the ride up. The route to the resort up in the Adirondacks is supposed to be beautiful and she treated herself to a first class ticket. Taking a sip of the $6 oat milk cold brew latte she picked up from her favorite coffee shop on the way, she tries to relax, flipping through a magazine as she waits. 

An hour later, the speaker clicks on and she stands, assuming that they’re going to announce that it’s time to board. Instead, her jaw drops as they announce that the trip has been cancelled due to mechanical issues with the train. Clarke rolls her eyes, shoving her way to the front desk, ignoring the grumbles of the people she pushed through.

“When is your next trip?” Clarke asks, not bothering with any other greeting.

“Not until tomorrow, sweetheart,” the old man at the desk answers.

Clarke rolls her eyes at the nickname, not bothering with a goodbye before walking away, heeled ankle boots clicking along the floor. 

_ Fuck _ .

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

Any normal person would simply rent a car, but Clarke sort of, kind of, failed to ever get her license. She moved from New York to Los Angeles halfway through high school and it never seemed important at the time. Then in college...well, Octavia had a car and Hanover was small enough to walk anywhere. There never seemed to be a need, especially after moving to New York after college, but she’s certainly questioning that logic now.

There’s really only one option left if she wants to make it to their wedding - which she really needs to do. It just so happens that this option requires swallowing an enormous amount of pride, pride that she’s spent years hoarding. Sighing in resignation, she pulls out her phone, reminding herself that she’s doing this for Monty and Harper.

As Bellamy’s phone rings and rings and rings, Clarke considers that he may not even answer. Just as she’s wracking her brain for a Plan C, his voice cuts off the ringing.

“Clarke?”

He seems confused, which Clarke thinks is understandable.

“Have you already left the city?”

“No. I’m leaving soon though - why?”

Clarke sighs again, for good measure. She wants him to know how much she truly doesn’t want to be asking him this.

“I need to catch a ride up with you. My train just got cancelled.”

“Ah, right - and you, a functioning adult,  _ still _ don’t have your license.” Bellamy loves to point that out, as if it’s a character flaw. She’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t think much of it if it was anyone else. She bites her tongue, knowing she can’t piss him off  _ too  _ much or he may very well leave without her. 

“Will you just text me the address so we’re not late?” she snaps. “Or it’ll be your fault I’m not there, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

“Fine - be here in thirty though, or I’m leaving without you.”

“Not a prob-” Clarke stops talking when it’s apparent that he’s already hung up. Oh well - he doesn’t have to be nice to her, he just needs to get her there in one piece.

By the time Clarke’s uber gets to Bellamy’s apartment building, 45 minutes have passed. Still, she wasn’t  _ really _ worried that he’d leave. Bellamy’s a dick, but he’s not  _ that _ terrible. Besides, Octavia would kick his ass for it. Bellamy is, however, leaning against his car and looking as impatient and irritated as ever. Unsurprisingly, he waits as Clarke struggles with her suitcase, pulling it out of the back of the uber on her own. Just as well - she doesn’t need him.

“Morning, Princess,” he greets her. That nickname, along with the way he smirks at the frown she’s wearing, pretty much defines their relationship. It has since they met eleven years ago.

The first time they met, it was when Bellamy was helping Octavia move into their freshman dorm room. Octavia and Clarke may have gotten along in spite of all their differences, but those differences seemed to immediately be a dealbreaker for Bellamy. As Clarke soon found out, Bellamy also graduated from Dartmouth. He wasn’t an athlete like Octavia, but with the help of merit scholarships, financial aid, loans, and part-time work, he was able to afford it.

All Clarke had done was ask why Octavia’s parents weren’t helping her move in. Octavia didn’t seem offended, but Bellamy cut in with, “some people actually have to work.”

Octavia had scolded him to knock it off, and if Clarke was a better person, she probably would have just ignored the comment or gave him the benefit of the doubt. Instead, she snapped back at him - what she said, she doesn’t even remember. What she does know is that it set the tone for their relationship and the more they learned about each other, the worse it got. Bellamy was resentful of her upbringing and all around judgemental, believing her to be a rich, uptight know-it-all. Clarke, in turn, resented being judged. She thought Bellamy was an egotistical jackass. The irritation was - and remains - equal.

Still, Clarke knows Bellamy isn’t going anywhere as long as Octavia is in her life. Because of that, they usually taper their distaste for each other and leave it at snippy remarks for Octavia’s sake. It’s not like Clarke saw him all that often during her years at Dartmouth, but given that her and Bellamy have both lived in New York since she graduated, they’re forced to see one another nearly every time Octavia visits.

“Why the hell do you live out here if you work at Columbia?” Clarke huffs, lifting her suitcase into the back of his car. She hadn’t been expecting a Brooklyn address.

“Well, professors don’t make hundreds of thousands of dollars taking advantage of people like corporate lawyers do,” he snaps, getting into his car. Clarke follows suit, biting her tongue at the comment. He’s giving her a lift, so she can at least  _ try _ to be the bigger person here.

“Whatever you say,” she answers coolly.

\--∞--

The drive up is mostly uneventful and goes by quickly enough - although Bellamy is sure it would go by even quicker if Clarke wasn’t with him. They bicker over the radio and Clarke wins only because Bellamy has to prioritize focusing on the road over fighting with her. Then she makes him go out of his way to stop at a Starbucks because apparently McDonald’s coffee isn’t good enough for her. The only reason he concedes is to shut her up. Still, for him and Clarke, it’s not too bad.

“Why did you dress up to take the train?” Bellamy asks, when they’re about thirty minutes from the lodge.

“Dressed like  _ what _ ?” Clarke asks. She gives him a pointed look, like she’s daring him to insult her outfit. 

It isn’t like Clarke looks  _ bad _ \- Clarke is actually pretty hot. He’s a big enough person to admit that to himself, even if he’d rather die than say it out loud. It’s just that the beauty isn’t enough to make up for her spoiled, pain-in-the-ass personality, and her current outfit is reflective of that. She’s wearing expensive looking heeled boots, tights, a checkered black and white mini skirt, and a black long-sleeved top. Her blonde hair is perfectly curled and she’s even wearing lipstick. 

“Not comfortably,” Bellamy settles on.

Clarke’s gaze drags over him, intentionally slow. “Some of us are comfortable in outfits that aren’t jeans and t-shirts,” she shrugs. “Besides, Lexa Woods is coming to the wedding, and I don’t want to run into her looking anything less than my best.”

“Who’s Lexa Woods?”

“A missed opportunity,” she answers wryly, not offering anything more. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t ask - he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

\--∞--

Clarke pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head as Bellamy pulls up to the resort where Monty and Harper are having the wedding. It’s a beautiful and enormous lodge, charmingly tucked into the forest. It’s all very Monty and Harper, a combination of their hippie preferences and the McIntyre family wealth.

“Everyone is having drinks on the patio,” Clarke tells Bellamy once he parks. Maybe Octavia relayed the message to him too, but she supposes it doesn’t hurt to offer the information up.

“Yeah, I’ll probably hang out in my room for a bit,” he grumbles, climbing out of the car.

“You’re going to sit in your room alone and wallow?” Clarke questions, following him to the trunk. Bellamy lifts her suitcase out of it for her, probably only because he forgot that he didn’t want to.

“I’m not  _ wallowing _ ,” he mutters, slamming the trunk harder than Clarke thinks was necessary. 

“You are, and anyone that tells you otherwise is being too nice. You need some tough love.”

Bellamy smirks at that. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and it doesn’t hold the same hint of amusement that it usually does. 

“Clarke Griffin telling  _ me  _ what  _ I  _ need...yeah, okay,” he snaps sarcastically, before striding ahead of her. 

Given how much she’s struggling with her large suitcase, Clarke doesn’t catch up with Bellamy until he’s already checking in at the front desk. Once he’s handed his room key, he leaves her in the lobby without another word.

\--∞--

Bellamy can hear a decent amount of chatter and laughter from the patio before he even steps outside. He gave himself an hour in his room, but Clarke admittedly got into his head. So instead of wallowing, he changed into a fresh button-up shirt and slacks before making his way downstairs. Also, his sister is going to be pissed if he doesn’t make an appearance, and staying in his room isn’t worth dealing with that. 

There’s nearly forty or so people spread across the patio, sitting or standing around a few different fire pits and lingering at the bar located at the end of it. When his eyes sweep across the crowd, looking for either Monty or Octavia, they land on Clarke instead. She must sense his gaze, because she looks up at him a second later, shooting him a self-satisfied smirk. Before he can do anything about it, Octavia calls his name from the opposite direction. She’s walking back from the bar, a glass of wine in each hand. His little sister’s wide smile is enough to make him forget his irritation at Clarke and even his battered heart, if only for a moment. 

“Come sit with us,” she urges, leading him to their group gathered around one of the fires. Octavia hands off the two drinks to Lincoln, seated in an armchair, before turning around and wrapping Bellamy in a hug. 

“Missed you, big brother,” she murmurs, only loud enough for him to hear. Once he lets her go, she turns to look at Clarke as she accepts her wine back from Lincoln. 

“I’m surprised you guys made it in one piece,” she teases, sitting down on the arm of Lincoln’s chair. 

Bellamy greets him with a nod before sitting down in the only empty chair next to them. Harper and Monty seem to be making the rounds, but Jasper and his fiance Maya are here too, along with Raven and her fiance Zeke. Bellamy has to hang out with a circle of couples when he’s never felt more alone. Well, a circle of couples and Clarke, but that’s hardly any better. 

\--∞--

Clarke grimaces, taking a longer swallow of champagne than usual as Harper’s sister gives her maid of honor speech. She’s trying  _ really _ hard not to take it personally that she’s stuck at the singles table with Bellamy and a few others she’s never met. Monty and Harper decided not to have traditional bridal parties and instead are seated at a small table alone. Raven and Zeke, Lincoln and Octavia, and Jasper and Maya have perfectly filled one of the six person tables. But no - it’s her, Bellamy, and four others she has no desire to talk with. 

Bellamy doesn’t look any happier about the seating arrangements as he nurses a whiskey neat - one of  _ several, _ Clarke has noticed. Not that Clarke isn’t on her way to drunk, but she wants to avoid slurring her words before she has a chance to shoot her shot with Lexa Woods. Bellamy doesn’t seem to have similar reservations.

When her sister finishes the speech and Jasper stands to give his, Bellamy cheers him on a little louder than necessary. Clarke elbows him without any subtlety. 

“You’re acting like a drunk idiot,” she grumbles.

“Who cares,” Bellamy mumbles. He takes another sip before slouching back in his seat, inevitably ending up closer to her.

“Would you stop leaning towards me? I don’t want anyone to think we’re together,” she whispers.

Bellamy barks a humorless laugh, loud enough that Jasper momentarily pauses, looking over at their table before continuing. Clarke elbows him again. 

“Like anyone would believe that.” His words are lethargic. “Not to mention we’re at the fucking singles table, genius.”

Clarke only rolls her eyes, her desire to end the conversation outweighing her urge to snap back at him with an equally harsh retort. 

The next hour is uneventful as people eat and chat. Despite having no desire to talk with them, Clarke makes polite conversation with the others at the table, which is more than Bellamy can say. He just sits there and drinks. Finally, people move to the dance floor, which is when Clarke sees her.

“Lexa,” Clarke says quietly, mostly to herself. Bellamy must hear it though, because she catches the roll of his eyes before he finishes off his whiskey. 

Clarke is aware that she holds Lexa on a bit of a pedestal, but she deserves it. Lexa was a sorority president, the president of Dartmouth’s debate team, and is as beautiful as she is smart. She’s exactly the type of person Clarke wants to end up with. In other words, she’s  _ perfect _ . 

Clarke and Lexa ran in similar social circles - Clarke was on the debate team and always seemed to end up at the same parties as her. They had gotten close, especially during their senior year, but Clarke was never able to seal the deal. She was too nervous, too meek (which is  _ not _ a word anyone who knows her would describe her as). But at nearly 30, Clarke has learned her lesson - you can’t let good things slip away.

She stands abruptly, not bothering to announce her departure to Bellamy or the rest of the table before walking across the dance floor towards Lexa. To Clarke’s relief, Lexa’s face lights up when she sees her coming. 

“Clarke!” she greets her, still smiling as she wraps her in a hug. 

“It’s been way too long,” Clarke smiles, hands still on Lexa’s arms.

“What have you been up to? Still in New York?”

“Yeah,” Clarke nods. “After Columbia Law I started working for Sydney & Associates. Mostly corporate law.”

Lexa’s soft smile never fades, and Clarke’s heart flutters in her chest.

“What about-” Clarke starts, cut off by a heavy arm over her shoulders.

“You must be Lexa Woods,” Bellamy slurs. “Clarke won’t shut up about you.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke nearly growls, throwing his arm off her. 

“You’re going to have your hands full with this one,” he mock whispers to Lexa, his slur even worse than when she left him five minutes ago.

“Bellamy,” Clarke repeats, tone icy. “Why don’t you get some water.”

Bellamy stares at her for a beat before breaking into that stupid cocky grin Clarke knows too well. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” he says, winking at her before walking away. Clarke doesn’t miss how he stumbles after a few feet, but he isn’t her responsibility. Not in the slightest.

“Is that your - your boyfriend?” Lexa asks, clearly trying to push past the awkward interruption. 

“God, no, that’s uh - that’s just Bellamy. You remember Octavia? It’s her older brother.”

Lexa only nods. 

“He’s just going through a bad breakup,” Clarke adds, feeling the need to defend his embarrassing behavior, although she isn’t sure why. 

The music shifts into something slower, as if on cue, saving Lexa from responding. 

“Oh, um - shall we?” Clarke asks, offering her arm. 

“Oh,” Lexa answers. “Sure,” she smiles, taking her arm.

“So, how’ve you been?” Clarke asks, once they begin swaying. 

“Oh, really good. I’m still in DC, and you know, wedding season,” she laughs. “So I’ve been kind of-”

“Depressed?” Clarke quips. 

Lexa laughs. “I was going to say busy.”

“Right,” Clarke agrees with a laugh, hoping Lexa thinks it was only a joke. “Busy.”

Clarke loses track of how many songs they dance to, making small talk and reminiscing about their college days. In some ways, it feels like it was just yesterday. Maybe that’s because Clarke doesn’t feel like she’s grown much since then. Life has moved on without her.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Clarke asks as the song fades into another. “I heard the gardens are beautiful.”

“Sure,” Lexa agrees. 

They walk side by side, away from the large pavilion hosting wedding reception and towards a beautiful garden with an abundance of flowers and trees, string lights illuminating the area. Clarke’s heart is pounding, even though they’re doing nothing but brushing arms as they walk. 

“This is beautiful out here,” Clarke tries. 

“Yeah,” Lexa agrees. “I almost didn’t come, given how busy I am, but it’s been really fun.”

“Definitely. I feel like I so rarely get to see you, this has been so great,” Clarke agrees. Their pace slows, walking giving way to lingering when they reach the fountain at the center of the garden. “I will be forever in your debt for saving me from the singles table,” Clarke jokes.

“Sounds like you need a new table,” Lexa laughs.

“Yeah well - you’ve got to be in a relationship for that,” Clarke quips. 

“Oh c’mon - that can’t be a problem for you, Clarke. You’re cute, and charming, and funny-”

“Go on,” Clarke laughs, leaning the smallest bit closer to her. 

“Oh stop,” Lexa laughs.

There’s a beat of silence - the kind that would intimidate Clarke in college. She’s already promised herself she’d be brave tonight, so she leans closer instead, tilting her head slightly as she closes the distance between her lips and Lexa’s.

“Oh,” Lexa stutters, hands coming up between them as she pulls away. 

“Oh God. I uh-” Clarke stammers, taking a step away. Her face is burning and she’s pretty sure being sent to actual hell would be less mortifying than this. Still, she’s mostly confused. “I’m so sorry, I- was that - did I - did I misread-”

“It’s okay, I just,” Lexa stutters, clearly as flustered as her. “It’s just - I’m engaged,” she continues, holding up her left hand. 

There’s a generous diamond on her ring finger that Clarke isn’t sure how she missed. She has to blame it on the champagne - either that, or she’s a blind moron, and that isn’t something she’s willing to accept.

“Jesus, I...okay. Was that there the whole time?” she jokes, hoping humor will diffuse the situation. It doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Lexa nods, swallowing as she looks down at her feet.

“Okay,” Clarke sighs. “Shit - I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Lexa quickly assures her, shaking her head as if she’s trying to physically rid herself of this disastrous moment. “But I - I’m going to head up to my room, it’s been a long night.”

“Yeah, of course.”

There’s another awkward beat before Lexa gives her a quick and stiff hug, turning away from Clarke without another word. She’s technically  _ walking _ away, but Clarke can’t help but notice how quick her pace is.

“Fuck me,” she groans as soon as Lexa is out of ear shot, sitting down on the edge of the fountain. 

A loud laugh startles her. She quickly stands, looking around.

“That was fucking awkward.”

Clarke clenches her jaw as she looks in the direction of Bellamy’s voice. In the dark, it takes her a moment to spot him, laying on his back on an iron bench on the opposite side of the fountain.

“Fuck you,” she snaps.

Bellamy only laughs louder. 

Clarke nearly leaves him there. She tells herself she doesn’t because she needs to make sure he’s alive to drive her home tomorrow, but she’s also never seen him this drunk and is a little concerned. If  _ she _ doesn’t deal with him, then Octavia will have to. At least one of them deserves a good night, and Clarke’s is already ruined. She inhales a deep breath, looking up at the star-speckled sky before releasing it. Gathering her strength - and patience - she walks over to Bellamy. He doesn’t move when she approaches, doesn’t so much as lift his head, his gaze trained on the sky.

“That’s Orion,” he slurs, lifting a heavy arm to point at the sky before letting it drop again.

“That’s great, nerd. We need to get you to bed though,” Clarke tells him, tugging on his arm and pulling him up into a sitting position. Bellamy just looks at her for a moment, eyes empty like he’s lost in his own head. She wonders if he’ll even remember this tomorrow. 

“C’mon,” she repeats, pulling him up to stand. He leans on her heavily, arm slung over her shoulders. The weight of him is already making her muscles ache, but she tries her best and in his defense, it seems like he’s at least trying to hold some of his weight.

“Why are you helping me?” he slurs, stumbling. Clarke catches him just in time, the arm around his waist clinging to him until he regains his balance.

“Because I don’t want to ruin anybody else’s night by making them come get you,” Clarke snaps. “And as you witnessed, it’s not like mine can get much worse.”

Bellamy chuckles, clearly still entertained by her misery. “That was bad.”

“I guess that’s one thing we can finally agree on,” Clarke mutters.

It’s truly a struggle getting Bellamy to his room. By the time they’re walking down the hallway, he’s nearly fallen three times and Clarke is covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Where’s your key?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy leans against the wall next to his door and pats his chest before letting his head roll back against the wall, eyes falling closed. Clarke rolls her eyes, digging the room card out of his suit pocket. She holds onto him with one hand while she unlocks the door, not trusting him to stand upright. Somehow, she maneuvers him into the room, holding the door open with her back. Once she guides him to the bed, he falls back onto it as Clarke turns on the lights. 

Bellamy groans, thumb and index finger pinching his temples. As she slides off her heels, Clarke notices Bellamy’s chest heaving unnaturally. It takes her what is probably too long to realize that he’s actually crying. Bellamy Blake, hardened jackass who has never shown an emotion that isn’t annoyance in her presence, is crying. It’s unfortunate really - Clarke isn’t exactly good at this stuff, even with people she actually cares about. 

“What’s wrong?” she tries, sitting down on the edge of the bed and sliding off his shoes. “Is this an Echo thing?”

“It’s not a fucking Echo thing,” he nearly growls. He quickly wipes his forearm across his eyes, as if he’s just noticed his own tears. As if he can still hide them from Clarke.

“Okay, okay,” Clarke concedes, tossing his shoes on the ground next to her own. “Sit up,” she commands. To her surprise, he obeys. 

“It’s just that, why does everyone have to get married  _ now _ ?” he complains as she helps pull his jacket off him.

“So, it is an Echo thing,” Clarke replies.

“I have five more of these to do this year,” he grumbles, ignoring her comment. “ _ Five _ .”

Bellamy flops back down on the bed as Clarke folds his jacket over the chair. 

“Yeah, well I’ve got you beat - six.”

When he doesn’t answer her, Clarke assumes he passed out. That is, until she turns around and finds him sitting up again, hand over his mouth. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Clarke mutters, looking around the room for  _ anything _ that will prevent him from puking on the floor. She grabs the ice bucket on the desk and shoves it in front of Bellamy just in time. He heaves, throwing up more than she thought possible.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” she grimaces once he catches his breath.

“I know,” he grumbles, immediately laying back down and leaving Clarke with the bucket full of his puke.

Clarke looks up at the ceiling with a sigh. Her friends are enjoying the night with their partners - fiances and now spouses, more specifically - and she’s holding a bucket of puke. Bellamy Blake’s puke, of all people. Standing and heading into the bathroom, she tosses his puke down the toilet before rinsing out the bucket in the shower, not wanting to leave it for the cleaning staff to deal with. She gags a few times and tries to remind herself she’s the daughter of a surgeon, and that she can handle a little puke - no matter that she adamantly insisted on pursuing a different career from her mother. Once she washes her hands and walks back into the room, she finds Bellamy passed out.

“Bellamy?” she asks anyway, partly to make sure he’s still breathing.

His only response is something between a hum and a groan. Either way, it means he’s still breathing. 

“I’m leaving,” she tells him, setting a glass of water on the bedside table next to him. “Try to drink this.”

“Stay,” he says, so quietly she questions whether she imagined it. His eyes remain closed and Clarke pauses, a little too stunned by the request to process it. “I don’t want to be alone,” he adds, even quieter. 

Clarke rolls her eyes at herself, shaking her head and looking to the ceiling again. She’s not sure why she doesn’t refuse the request and leave - she’s certainly done enough for him. She certainly doesn’t  _ owe _ him anything. Then again, Octavia would probably want someone to stay with him. Not to mention, if he chokes on his puke and dies, is it technically her fault? Of course, if he dies, she’ll also be without a ride tomorrow. 

“Fine,” she mutters, crawling onto the king size bed. It’s big enough that there’s ample space between them. Although she’s still wearing her dress, she’s tired and drunk enough that she knows she won’t have any problems falling asleep. “If you come near me with your puke breath, I’ll shove you off the bed,” she warns.

Bellamy doesn’t answer, his only response the faint rhythm of his snores. 

\--∞-- 

Before Bellamy even opens his eyes, he knows his body is in bad shape. His stomach is churning, his head is pounding, and his mouth is dry with a terrible taste in it. Groaning, he carefully rolls onto his back. A moment later, he feels the mattress shifting under him despite that he’s laying perfectly still. He rolls his head to the side and cracks a single eye open, half-afraid of what he might fine. At the sight of familiar blonde hair, his other eye pops open in alarm. 

Clarke moves again, this time sitting up beside him. She looks down at him with a frown.

“Good, you’re up.” Her voice is rough with sleep and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her in such a state - all wild hair and ruined makeup, still in her dress from last night.

“Please tell me this,” he grumbles, wearily pointing between them, “didn’t happen.”

Her lips twist into a mean smirk and she looks more like the Clarke he knows and despises. “Only in my nightmares.”

Clarke doesn’t give him a chance to respond before climbing off the bed. The movement makes whatever is left in his stomach slosh around.

“What are you doing here?” he tries, forcing himself to sit up. He squeezes his eyes shut at the sharp pain in his forehead as Clarke slips her heels back on.

“I needed to make sure you didn’t choke on your own puke,” Clarke tells him. “You being my ride and all.”

“Fuck,” he grumbles at the reminder that he has to drive today.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Clarke adds. “If Octavia had to take care of you last night, she’d still be chewing you out right now.”

Bellamy only hums, both too tired and proud to thank her, even though he knows it’s the right thing to do. Eyes still closed, he leans back against the headboard, letting his head fall back against it. 

“Do you - do you even remember last night?”

Clarke’s tone is strange - more hesitant and unsure than he’s used to. It makes him pop open an eye to look at her. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, already looking back at him. In truth, he really doesn’t remember much. He remembers the wedding in bits and pieces, and stumbling out to the gardens to get away from everyone and-

Bellamy can’t help the smug smile that slips onto his face. “I remember you swinging and missing with  _ Lexa Woods _ ,” he answers, a mocking emphasis on the woman’s name.

Bellamy isn’t nearly fast enough to dodge the throw pillow that Clarke whips at his face. 

“You’re such a dick, Blake. Be downstairs in two hours or I’m stealing your car and leaving you here.”

“You don’t even have a license,” he snorts, although she’s already walking away from him.

“Exactly,” Clarke calls, right before the door to his room slams shut behind her. 

Bellamy closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he lays back down again.

\--∞--

Clarke squeezes Octavia tightly, sad to be saying goodbye to her best friend so soon. She said goodbye to everyone else at breakfast, but Octavia insisted on walking her and Bellamy to the car.

“I can’t believe how fast the day went,” O complains once Clarke finally lets go.

“I know, but Jasper’s wedding is only a couple weeks away. The wait will be nothing. I guess weddings are good for something, if it means I get to see you guys more often.”

Octavia rolls her eyes playfully, shaking her head at her. “Sure, Clarke. That’s the only thing weddings are good for.”

Clarke laughs. “You’re biased.”

“And so are you,” Octavia quips.

“I’m actually with Clarke on this one,” Bellamy chimes in. Clarke turns around, finding him leaning against the car, sunglasses on. It’s truly unfair that he looks even halfway decent given the night he had.

“Well,” Octavia starts, walking towards her brother. “I guess it’s nice you two finally have something in common, even if it’s being bitter.”

Bellamy smiles as Octavia hugs him tightly. She says something to him, but it’s too quiet for Clarke to hear from where she’s standing a few feet away, trying to give them space. Whatever it is, Bellamy nods, his lips turning up in an attempt at a smile. It doesn’t quite work.

\--∞--

“Fuck, finally,” Bellamy mutters, eyeing the roadside diner. 

They’ve been driving for two hours already, mostly in silence, both of them tired and varying degrees of hungover. Bellamy nursed a water bottle and cup of coffee this morning, forcing himself to pick at some toast at breakfast. But now, his appetite is finally making an appearance again and he knows if he puts off getting some food in him, he’s only going to start feeling nauseous again.

“What?” Clarke questions. 

Unlike two days ago, she’s wearing leggings and a crew-cut sweatshirt, eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. Her clothing is still probably more expensive than anything he owns - lemon lu or whatever the fuck that shit is - but it’s still refreshing to see her in more relaxed attire. She seems more...human.

“We’re stopping for food,” he tells her, pulling into the parking lot.

“No we’re not,” she argues, even though he’s already parking the car. 

“ _ Yes _ , we are.”

“What the hell am I supposed to eat in that place?” she questions as he gets out of the car. Standing at his open door, he leans down to look at her. 

“I don’t care whether you stay here or join me, Princess. But I’m going to eat something.”

Clarke doesn’t answer before he slams his door, heading towards the diner. He can’t help but smile when he hears her own door open and close behind him, along with her dramatic huff.

\--∞--

Clarke tries to swallow down her irritation as she slides into a booth across from Bellamy. A bored-looking teenage girl comes over and places two laminated menus on the table. After they both order coffee, she leaves them to look over their menus. Clarke slides it away, not bothering to look at it. Bellamy raises his brow at her over his menu.

“You’re really not eating anything?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You had fruit and granola for breakfast, over three hours ago.”

“And I’m not hungry,” Clarke lies with a shrug. Bellamy rolls his eyes and shakes his head at her, but doesn’t say anything more. 

Once they have their coffees and Bellamy orders a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, the waitress takes their menus and leaves the two of them alone.

“Okay,” Bellamy sighs. “Let’s hear it.”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow at him, setting her coffee back down. It’s strong, but not as bad as she expected. “Hear what?”

“Just how badly did I embarrass myself last night?” To her surprise, he’s wearing the faintest of smiles. At least he can find some humor in it now. 

“Well, I think I’m the only one who saw the worst of it,” she settles on, after a beat.

“And what was the worst of it?”

“Oh, you know - sad and drunk, crying about Echo and all the other weddings you still have to go to.”

“Jesus,” Bellamy mutters, running his hands through his wild hair before burying his face in them. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. “Thank you, by the way,” he finally says. “For making sure you were the only one to see me like that.”

For some reason, Clarke feels her cheeks flush. Probably because it might be the nicest thing he’s ever said to her. 

“Well, like I told you, it’s not like you ruined my night,” she shrugs. “I did that all on my own, you can ask Lexa Woods.”

“Lexa Woods,” Bellamy says, as if he’s tasting her name for the first time. Clarke can’t help but laugh, even if it feels unnatural to do so in his presence. “Why do you always say her first and last name like some kind of serial killer?”

Clarke huffs as she looks around the table for something to throw at him, but comes up empty. “I don’t know, because she’s perfect. Like - a legend or something. Lexa Woods.”

“Sounds like a porn star name,” Bellamy decides, taking a sip of his coffee. Clarke nearly spits out her own.

“It does not,” she cries, drawing a few looks from the other diner customers. That gets a chuckle out of Bellamy and Clarke rolls her eyes, surprised that she’s biting down a smile. It’s not exactly like he’s being  _ nice _ to her, but it feels more like teasing than cruelty.

Bellamy sighs, holding his head in his hand. “I can’t do this five more times.”

“Well, I have six,” Clarke reminds him.

“Huh?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, remembering he doesn’t seem to remember anything from their conversation last night. “I have you beat - I have six weddings, all before November.”

Bellamy whistles. “That blows.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, sipping her coffee.

“At least you didn’t already RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one to all of yours,” Bellamy counters, offering a wry smile. 

Clarke isn’t sure what to say to that, given that she doesn’t know much about Echo or his relationship with her - only what Octavia’s said, which was never anything positive. Luckily, the waitress brings Bellamy’s food and saves her from having to respond. She expects him to dig in, but his gaze remains on the table as if he’s thinking, drumming his fingers. 

“Okay,” he starts, looking up at her after a beat. “I have a kind of crazy idea.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

“We could...we could actually do this for all the weddings.”

“Do  _ what _ ?” Clarke asks, increasingly confused.

“Go together as each others’ plus ones. I take you, you take me - win-win.”

“You want to double down on weddings? On purpose?”

“No, I’m suggesting teaming up to take on this horrendous love marathon together.”

“You want me to go to  _ more  _ of these?  _ You _ want to go to more of these?”

“Yeah, well...I said I was going with someone when Echo and I were still together, so I’d really rather not show up alone.”

Clarke doesn’t really understand that sentiment, but maybe that’s because she’s so used to being alone. Bellamy isn’t - he’s had a partner for three years. 

“We hate each other,” she argues. 

“We don’t  _ hate _ each other.”

Clarke tilts her head, giving him a doubtful look.

“Listen, so we have nothing in common. But this saves us from singles tables, and we’ll probably be drunk anyway, and you’re not  _ that _ annoying.”

“Gee, thanks,” she scoffs. “You realize that that’s eleven weddings between us.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Nine. We were both already going to O’s, and Gabe’s and Josephine’s.”

“Nine is more than six, and five.”

“Come on. I’ll wingman you. How else are you going to meet more single people? It’s about exposure to relationship opportunities. All your single friends are gone, Clarke. What are you going to do - hit the club solo?”

“You know, I actually do just fine without  _ you _ , of all people, matchmaking for me.”

“Sure. That’s why you’re going to six weddings alone.”

“Fuck off.”

Bellamy puts his hands up in defense. “I’m clearly not doing any better.”

“Why do  _ you  _ want to do this so much?”

“Because…” Bellamy trails off, sighing. “Clarke, this is going to be so much worse if we do this on our own. Stuck at singles tables, shelling out for hotel rooms to sleep in...alone. Sure we don’t always get along, but it’s perfect, if you think about it. We know each other well enough that it won’t be awkward, we don’t give a fuck what we think of each other so we don’t have to pretend, and best of all, we both hate weddings. We can be bitter about all of it together instead of sitting with a bunch of acquaintances and having to pretend we’re happy to be there.”

Clarke kind of hates how much sense Bellamy is making. She seriously considers it for a minute - really, she does. But then she remembers how absolutely ridiculous it is.

“No way,” she shakes her. “I get it, Bellamy, I do. But that’s still insane.”

Bellamy shakes his head at her, taking a huge bite out of his toast. “Your loss, Princess.”

\--∞--

Clarke is exhausted by the time she walks into her office on Monday morning. These days, except for the occasional date that never seems to go anywhere, she spends her weekends working late or curled up on her couch with a glass of wine watching the romantic comedies that she pretends to hate. Between the amount of alcohol she consumed and the level of embarrassment she suffered last weekend, she’s ready to hibernate for the coming weeks. 

She manages to get a solid amount of work done before Roan parks himself in her office around noon. Clarke is tempted to kick him out, but he leaves a salad from her favorite cafe on her desk, and so she lets it slide. 

“How was the wedding?” he asks, not bothering to swallow his food before speaking.

Clarke rolls her eyes at him as she takes the container top off her salad. “Fine.”

Roan tilts his head, silently calling bullshit.

“Horrible,” she amends. “I was brutally rejected by a woman I didn’t know was engaged, and ended up holding a bucket full of Bellamy Blake’s puke by the end of the night.”

Roan barks a laugh. “You’re a disaster.”

“This is a great pep talk.”

“I thought you hated that guy, why were you helping him?”

Clarke shrugs, feeling strangely defensive. “I don’t  _ hate _ him, exactly - he’s just an ass and drives me nuts. Besides, I did it so Octavia wouldn’t be stuck taking care of him.”

“So he’s another one of your charity cases?”

“Shut up.” She can’t scold him without a laugh slipping through. “Actually, he suggested that we go to all our upcoming weddings together, as each others’ plus ones. Apparently, so we can commiserate with each other over our shared hatred of wedding seasons and set each other up with people. As if I need  _ his _ help,” Clarke scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Well, you need someone’s help.”

“I do not,” she snaps.

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, waving him off. “A couple months ago - so what?”

“And what was wrong with that one? Five minutes late to dinner? Didn’t like the way they chewed? Talked too little? Talked too much?”

“What’s wrong with having standards?” Clarke argues. “I’m picky, so what? I know what I want, why should I have to settle?”

“What you want is an idea of a person, not a person.”

“What are you, my therapist?”

“Okay,” Roan gives up, lifting his hands up in mock defense. “Well, what did you tell him?”

“What do you think I said? I told him it was insane.”

Roan shrugs. “It could be fun.”

“Not happening,” Clarke shakes her head. “Definitely not happening.”

\--∞--

Clarke doesn’t get home until nearly 8pm. She immediately slips off her heels, tossing her briefcase on her kitchen island on her way to the fridge. She should return her mother’s call, but she doesn’t have the energy to make up new excuses about why she doesn’t want to be her maid of honor for a second time. Instead, she pours a generous glass of pinot. After putting the bottle back in the fridge, she pauses upon closing the door. All of her wedding invitations stare back at her. So many happy couples, so many singles tables. 

Clarke can’t help but replay her conversation with Roan in her head as she ponders Bellamy’s proposal.  _ Could  _ it be fun? Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t the worst idea in the world. The simple prospect of having someone by her side that she doesn’t have pretend around is becoming increasingly tempting.

Clarke pulls out her phone, in disbelief she’s doing this. It’s a new level of rock bottom. She scrolls through her messages until she lands on her conversation with Bellamy, the last text between them being a threat from her about them leaving the lodge on time. 

She takes a deep breath. This is a terrible idea. 

**_Clarke:_ ** _ I’ll do the wedding thing with you. _

She hits send. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked this, comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
